Love the Nightlife
by Rosetintstheworld
Summary: A combination of a Cyndi Lauper-themed show, Felicia's lack of forward thinking, and Bernadette's lack of foot-eye coordination lands the trio camping out in A&E of an evening. Bernie's worrying about the possibility of having broken her leg; Adam's being generally obstreperous; and Tick's - for the most part - asleep. Chaos shall be ensued... Post-movie.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Holy shit, the first multi-chapter fic I think I've written in yeeeeears. I started this on the fly at work, and it...well, snowballed. I enjoyed exploring the characters etc. and just playing around, so I hope you like it.**

 **CHARACTERS: Bernadette Bassinger; Felicia Jollygoodfellow/Adam Whitely; Mitzi Del Bra/Antony 'Tick' Belrose; Bob Spart**

 **PAIRING: Not really pairing-focused so much as a character study, but there's some Bernadette/Bob**

 **OTHER SHIT: Post-movie**

* * *

Chapter 1

Compared to the hideous nightmare heat of Sydney in January, the hospital's well-air conditioned foyer was far from unwelcome to the posse of drag performers who had just stumbled into it. However, that was about the only pleasant thing about it; between the revolting decor; bloodied drunks herding through the doors behind them, howling curse words and being generally obnoxious; and the nose-melting too-clean hospital smell that hung in the air like an unpleasantly sterile fog, the trio felt more than a touch out-of-place.

The lot of them were all still donning full drag; metallic Spandex and leg warmers - so 80s it was practically vomit-worthy - paired with similarly ostentatious makeup and wigs. Tick stumbled along, still in heels; Bernadette - the complete reason that they were where they were, rather than parading around onstage back at the hotel - carried on his back like a child (this had taken some persuasion, but as she'd been convinced that this was safer than navigating the broken glass-riddled car park on one leg with no shoes on, she'd begrudgingly consented to it happening.) Adam trailed some five paces behind them, the obnoxious younger queen with Bernadette's shoes in one hand, the other playing around with his wig, which was somewhat askew. Tick furrowed his brow, staring somewhat longsightedly at the cryptic signs above their heads, denoting routes to x, y, and z that corresponded to multicoloured lines on the floor.

"And just how in the name of God is a person supposed to find reception in this place?" he grumbled, readjusting his shoulders, and pushing Bernadette further up his back via her thighs. The blonde squirmed, half-heartedly smacking him around the back of the head. She was sweating bullets, her makeup half-off and mascara running in black rivulets down her face. She pursed her lips, glancing herself to the bad signposting; she crossed her arms over Tick's chest, sighing through her nose. This whole thing had thus far been the most degrading, not to mention distinctly uncomfortable experience of her life to date - between an entire audience witnessing her idiotic mishap, to the horrendous hour and a half in a taxi with zero leg room - according to Adam, the fucking thing had been cheaper than an ambulance, but she very much doubted that there was much in it after the ludicrous amount of time they'd spent stuck in traffic - to now being here, with a room full of pissed-up creeps staring them down, with Tick's fingers digging into her hamstrings, and no discernible route to a reception desk.  
"Search me," she scoffed, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand and cringing when she noticed that she had taken most of an eyebrow with it. "Felicia, get a move on," she turned her head to look at him - he was sauntering absentmindedly several meters behind them. "A bit of urgency, please?"  
"Oh, calm your tits, Bernie," he rolled his eyes, before obliging and mincing his way towards them, investigating Bernadette's heels as he did so.  
"You calm your tits - I'm in fucking agony here, and you're hardly helping."

"Children, please," Bernadette's packhorse cast his eyes to the heavens, exasperated. There was a time and a place where Tick would have been willing to tolerate his friends' squabbling, but this was neither. He took another glance at the sign, before deducing; "I think it's this way," he strode off down a corridor, Bernadette grumbling under her breath, and Adam trudging along behind them.

"What size shoe are you, Bernice?" Adam spoke again, unable to resist taking another poke. Winding up Bernadette seemed to be one of his favourite pastimes. "I'm taking a liking to these, and it's not like you're gonna be using 'em for a while."

Bernadette rolled her eyes so far into the back of her head that her irises virtually disappeared. "One more push, and I swear to fucking god..." she muttered into Tick's ear, eliciting a small smile from her long-time friend. "Adam, grow up," she snapped at him, to his continued amusement. This whole experience was a thing which Adam was getting more enjoyment from than he probably had any right to.  
"Never," he responded with a twee smirk, before turning and giving a coy smile and wave to a staring hoard of flannel-clad smelly blokes; just the type who tended to thoroughly dislike said behaviour - it was, of course, that particular breed of straight macho man that he had almost lost his balls to in Coober Pedy. Bernadette sighed again; some people never learn. At least if he _had_ to get the shit kicked out of him, this was the place to be.  
"If he doesn't rein his neck in, he'll get himself killed one of these days," Bernadette said to her counterpart, grimacing.  
"I know," Tick gave a sort of thin-lipped smile, glancing behind him to the inappropriate over-flamboyance being displayed by the youngest of the three. "He'll figure that out eventually, and if he doesn't, I guess it'll just be Darwinism," Bernadette laughed slightly, resting her chin on the top of Tick's head.  
"Are we nearly there? I'm fucking exhausted."  
"Damned if I know," came his response, elongated by a yawn. "How's the leg?"

"It's...well, it's not bad, but it's not necessarily _good_ either," Bernadette looked with disdain at her outstretched legs. Even with silver tights and the most luminescent purple leg warmers the world had ever known, it was beyond obvious that her right foot was horrifyingly swollen almost beyond recognition, already bruising. "Actually, I won't lie to you - it hurts like hell."  
"No shit," Tick grimaced. "Look at the fucking _colour_ ; matches your leg warmers. How much you wanna bet you've busted it?"  
"How's about my life's savings?" Bernadette attempted to laugh, but it came off forced. She really wasn't in much of a mood to make light of the situation; too daunted by the prospect of the implications such an injury would have on her to see the funny side  
"Still, brings a whole new meaning to the phrase 'break a leg', doesn't it?"

"Mitz, not to burst your bubble, but I think that we may have walked straight past the front desk," Adam half-called to them. "Like, quite a bit ago."  
"What makes you so sure?" Bernadette asked, staring at him quizzically as Tick turned round to face him. "I- _have you got my shoes on, you little shit?_ "  
"Maybe I do, maybe I don't," he grinned at her, voguing and posing in them. "Reckon they quite suit me, don't you?" Bernadette's eyes widened as she scowled at him. If looks cold kill, Felicia Jollygoodfellow would have most certainly been dead, staked, buried, dug back up again, and then staked a second time for good measure.  
"I swear to God...I'm going to fucking lamp him, honestly," if she hadn't been so tired, and...well, crippled, there was a good chance that she'd have kicked the living shit out of him, but alas, this was not the case. Tick rolled his eyes, thankful that there was no way in hell that the brewing cat fight was going to occur.  
"Adam, why _do_ you think that we've passed reception?" Tick cut in before Bernadette could make more threats of death or other such consequences if Adam didn't stop pushing her buttons.

"I'm not sure, but I'd have thought the sign saying 'maternity ward' would've clued you in."  
"Fucking hell," Bernadette cursed violently, dropping her head onto Tick's shoulder in exasperation, as he turned once more and began to stride back in the direction they'd come, now hobbling slightly, partly under her weight, and partly due to the prolonged period in heels. "This is going to be the death of me..."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It had been another half-hour at least before they'd eventually found the illusive receptionist; an hour before Bernie had at long last been allocated a bed behind some flimsy paper curtains, and told to wait for a doctor - it would have been less, but people had kept jumping the queue, and two of the three of them had needed to pee; this had been a laugh and a half, owing to the fiasco surrounding gendered bathrooms. It had eventually been settled that the three of them would bundle into the stand-alone handicapped loo in order to save both Bernadette dragging one of her counterparts into the ladies' with her and freaking out some poor grandma, and the shitstorm that would come from some beefed-up fuckwit witnessing a drag queen at a urinal - and given that Felicia had somewhat of a knack for pissing off that particular type of man, that was an all-too easily imagined scenario. They'd figured it was technically alright, given that Bernadette was, for all intents and purposes, disabled - for the time being anyway.

And so that was how it came to be that Bernadette Bassenger found herself lying in a hospital bed at two o'clock on a Sunday morning, pumped so full of painkillers that her head was swimming; wearing half a face of sweat-ruined makeup; her foot propped on the type of sterile white pancake that allegedly passed for a pillow in an ER these days; and some sort of small plastic contraption that looked for all the world like a water gun stuck into her hand. She'd lost a leg warmer, and the hideous bodysuit had been cut up the shin so that the doctor could get a better look at the situation below her knee; it was pretty much unsalvageable, but it was good riddance in her opinion. If she could live out her life without metallic Spandex ever so much as touching her body ever again, she could die a happy woman.

Adam had sauntered off in search of a vending machine, and it was doubtful that she would ever see him again thanks to the place being like some sort of disinfected rabbit warren; Tick was half-asleep in a plastic chair next to her. Between the stress of the situation and the weird lingering ache in her lower leg in spite of the morphine and whatever the fuck else was in her system keeping her hazy but still oddly wakeful, sleep was entirely alluding her. She elbowed the dozing man in the ribs, and he jumped up with a start, scowling at her. She gave a weak smile.

"Thanks for this," she said; her voice softer than usual - perhaps the unusual calmness of the woman who was generally highly-strung and moody as all fuck could be attributed to the fact that she was basically high. "The...I mean the traipsing me halfway across Sydney on your back, not anything deeper in sentimentality than that. I might be knackered and on drugs, but not nearly to that extent."  
"No problem, Bernie," he spoke once again through a yawn, stretching his arms above his head. Bernadette pulled her wig off, wiping her brow with the heel of her hand once again. She deposited the heap of auburn curls on the floor by Tick's feet, her wig cap abandoned on top of it not a minute later. She tossed her head; her blonde hair falling lank and lacklustre to her shoulders. Fuck, she would have killed to have been able to go and take a shower Tick stretched his legs out in front of him, kicking his shoes off as he went, trying his hardest to make himself comfortable; the cheap hardness of the piece of furniture he was occupying not doing much to make this easier for him. "Holy shit, I'm almost jealous of you at this point."  
"Why the fuck would you be jealous of _this_? I look like roadkill in a leotard."  
"I'll neither confirm nor deny that, but you get to fucking lie down, unlike some of us."  
"Oh, do you want to swap places with me, Antony Belrose? Because that'd suit me just fine right now," she scowled at him, before breaking into a small fit of giggles. "I would stab somebody for a shower and a toothbrush right now - the inside of my mouth tastes like arse," she muttered to herself.  
"Nice," Tick replied, pulling a face at her.  
"Oh get lost...I swear, if I don't see those heels back before...not even before I can actually fucking walk again, - God knows how long that'll take - but before the end of the night, I'll kick his crotch so hard he'll vomit up his testicles," she spoke in reference to Adam's theft of her shoes, folding her arms over her chest. Tick gave a slight chuckle at her materialism-based discontent.

"I think the only reason you don't like him is that you're too similar."

"Oh fuck off we are," she squinted at him, glowering. "Mitzi, you can't be serious-"  
"I'm being deadly serious," he grinned, earning himself another clip round the head from the ill-tempered blonde. "You're both ignorant and bull-headed, except you've got a better vocabulary and you know how to handle yourself, so it comes off as less annoying and more bitchy. He's just young - once he gets to your age, you'll see it."  
" _If_ he gets to my age - because lets face it, if he keeps pursuing straight men just for the crack, and stealing my shit, then I'll highly doubt he'll make it that far," she gave a smirk, dropping her guard and laughing at her own remark.  
"He _is_ alright, Bernadette - lives to take the piss out of people, but that's an age thing. Surely even you can see that."

"Fine," she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Now can we stop talking about Felicia fucking Jollygoodfellow? Because otherwise I think I may actually be sick."

"Point taken," Tick nodded, scratching his head. "Is...What is it, may I ask, that made you choose to come back?"

She gave a slight throaty chuckle. "Believe it or not, Felicia," she cast her gaze to Tick's confused facial expression. "Look, I won't dance around it, it was boring as all hell out there. So when I get a phone call out of the blue from him saying that he for some reason needed a third person for this Cyndi Lauper routine he was hammering on about, regardless of how aggravating I find him, I jumped at the chance."

"And..Bob?" Tick offered; she had been back for all of two days, and between chaotic rehearsals and other such nonsense, they'd had barely a moment to catch up. He was unsure of whether or not he had just prodded a nerve. Bernadette grinned, placing her head in her hands in her flustered embarrassment; apparently not. "I'll take that to mean you're still a thing. He made an honest woman of you yet?"

"No - oh, God no," she giggled, schoolgirlish. "If I'm honest I think he was working up the courage - then I was fucking stupid enough to bring up Trumpet, and now I don't think he'd touch the idea with a ten-foot pole, for the next year at least."  
"Oh god, he wasn't at the show, was he?"  
"No, he wasn't - we drove back, and he's still knackered from it, the poor sod. He said he didn't think he'd be up to staying up until all hours. Still, if I'm honest I think I'm glad he didn't come," she cast her eyes to her now somewhat violet-hued foot; she pursed her lips as she realised her toenail polish was hideously chipped - this for some reason being her chief worry when she'd probably broken her ankle; broken probably being the best case scenario. She'd had her fair share of heel-related mishaps in her life, and this was like no sprain or torn ligament she'd known before. In those situations, she could usually at least limp on the affected limb; this time it was out of the question.  
"What..." Tick didn't bother finishing the question, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Bernadette, it's half two in the fucking morning, and the show was supposed to finish at midnight; he's gonna be worried sick."

"He'll find out in time," she was attempting to laugh the situation off, though a lump was steadily growing in her throat. "He's staying in my house after all; I'll get out of here at some point, then he'll _have_ to know. I mean, crutches and a cast are difficult things to hide from someone."  
"Bernadette-"

"I know, I know," she stared at the floor, her face falling. "It's just - it's not a thing I'm used to thinking about it. The last - and first, really - committed relationship I had was with Trumpet, and...Look, not to speak ill of the dead, but when he was still here, everything, good or bad, went like; 'that's nice, dear' without him really paying attention...Not that he didn't _care_ \- of course not - but...it was a Felicia thing; a youth thing. He just didn't know what was and wasn't a big deal, so I didn't ever have to tell him anything...everything I did just... _went_. But with Bob...he's a lot different. He worries more...oh shit, I probably should have got someone to let him know, shouldn't I?" Mitzi nodded, and Bernadette's head fell to her hands, her breath quivering; not quite crying, but still not far from it. "Oh god, I'm an idiot...You're right; he'll be beside himself - what have I _done_?..."  
"Bernie, calm down - it's not a big deal; he'll be fine-" Tick placed a hand on her back, just as Adam parted the curtains, traipsing back in with a couple of Mars bars in one hand, a half-eaten third in his other. He pulled a face, glancing somewhat worriedly to Bernie's hunched form.  
" _Is she okay?_ " he mouthed, a tad over-exaggerated, as he pointed to Bernadette. He had a hideous amount of chocolate stuck in his back teeth.  
" _Bob_ ," came Tick's silent reply. Adam flinched somewhat. The younger man sat down on the floor by Tick's side, crossing his legs and dumping the chocolate bars on his counterpart's lap. Eventually, Bernadette sat up again; no evidence of tears present on her face, but her cheeks flushed and breath still shallow and wavering.  
"I'm fine - sorry about that," she smiled tenuously, before she caught sight of Felicia sitting on the linoleum floor. "Oh look, he's alive," she quipped, icy.  
"I brought you food, shut up," Adam sallied back at her, picking up the Mars bar from between Tick's legs and flinging it at her with such a force it probably could have knocked her head off, had she not caught it.  
"Food or no food, I liked it better when you weren't here," she scoffed. "It was a hell of a lot quieter."  
"Oh, get over yourself," Adam spoke through another substantial mouthful of chocolate; earning more eye rolls from Bernadette.

"Christ almighty, you're disgusting..."  
"Hmm, let me see how many fucks I give," Adam looked to the ceiling, squinting. "One...one and a half...two...oh shit, they flew away."  
"Have I reiterated enough yet exactly how much I hate him?" Bernadette turned to Tick, who gave her an exasperated raise of a pencilled eyebrow.  
"Well, now that you've finished your little outburst, I have to ask," Adam tongued his cheek, simpering. "What's the story with you and Bobby? Trouble in paradise?"  
"Absolutely not," she tossed her hair off her shoulder with an air of pride. "He's been nothing short of a gentleman since I met him, thank you very much...only I've neglected to tell him about this whole fiasco, and our darling Mitzi implanted the idea in my head that he's probably worried sick about my not being home, and...Look, I'm on more drugs than you were when whatever it was possessed you to do what you did that night in Coober Pedy, and I guess my emotions got the better of me."

"That was low, Bernice my dear," Adam jeered. "And he's going to worry less when he finds out you're camping out in Accident and Emergency with a busted ankle? It's a fair guess for him to make that we're out painting the town; you can hobble in and do your explaining in the morning when you're sober."  
"That's quite possibly the closest thing to a reasonable piece of advice you've ever given me," she was almost smiling at him as she mulled over the wisdom he had just imparted.

"Any time, my dearest Bernie, any time," he grinned, the foolish naiveness of a child on his face, before swallowing and taking up a more serious note, gesturing to her leg. "Yeesh, looks sore. You found out what the deal with this is yet?"

"Still no idea," she sighed, leaning back and fervently rearranging her pillows in an attempt at getting comfortable. "I think somebody's gonna turn up at some point to get me an x-ray, then tell me what I've known for the last two and a half hours, stick a cast on it, and send me on my way."

"Sounds about right. 'S what they did when I broke my arm," noting Bernadette's quizzical stare, he sighed, explaining. "Rugby."  
Tick gave a snort of laughter, before looking at Adam's face and wincing, raising his hand in a gesture of apology. Bernadette still seemed a touch disbelieving. " _Rugby_? You?"  
"I was six, okay?" he snorted. "Was my dad's idea; that lasted a while," he rolled his eyes, before dropping the seriousness; the usual Felicia seemed back with a vengeance. "Christ, I wasn't sure whether to laugh or freak when it happened," he sniggered. "I didn't know if you were doing it on purpose."  
"We'd had words about that ponytail thing, Adam," Bernadette glowered at him disapprovingly. "I told you someone would get hurt, and did you listen? I hope you're fucking happy now."  
He continued, ignoring her almost entirely. "I could see the headlines right before my eyes - 'Local tranny drops dead on stage at age 142.' We called her Bernie. But her real name was-" Bernadette scowled furiously at him, leaning down and grabbing him by the neck with a white-knuckled fist. "Fuck- get off of me, you psychotic bitch! It was only a joke!"  
"Jokes are funny," she snarled through her gritted teeth. "I've got no time and no patience for your shit today, Adam Whitely. Now I suggest you cut it out, or I will personally rip your arms off and beat you with them," she let him go, shoving him backwards with a terrifying strength, before sitting back again and groaning; her little performance had caused her to move her leg more than was probably good for her, but in the heat of the moment, she'd not noticed or indeed cared.

"If I've told you once about the 'R' word, I've told you a thousand times, Adam," Tick rolled his eyes - Adam was now in that stage of exhaustion where tiredness had been entirely usurped by hyperactivity, and the unwavering desire to annoy the living daylights out of everyone he was around.  
"Soh-ree," Adam huffed as he rolled his eyes, lying down on the floor.

"God almighty, it's like being back on that fucking bus," Bernadette lamented. "Except there's no booze in here, and I'm in a considerably larger amount of pain."

"I'm fucking bushwhacked," Adam yawned, sprawling out like a starfish on the floor. "Oi, tightarse, give us a pillow," he jabbed Bernadette in the elbow, to the older woman's continued dismay.

"I might've considered it, had you not stolen my fucking shoes."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Have either of you two got any spare change on you? This fucking thing's just eaten all of mine, and it won't even let me dial the bloody number," it was presently four o'clock in the morning; Felicia had taken an hour and a half of kip on the floor, but this seemed to have hindered him rather than helped, as he was now groggy and zombie-like, leaning against the wall in a daze. Tick had been drifting in and out of wakefulness for a while; he was a tad more alive now, but only just. As far as Bernadette went - just as she had been beginning to doze off, an irritatingly sprightly, clean-cut young doctor had come in and announced that she was to be taken for an x-ray, much to her dismay. Her prediction had been entirely correct, both for her diagnosis and treatment; she'd fractured her tibia at the ankle, and would be sporting a cast for the next six weeks or so - again, a thing she was far from pleased about, but at least she was now getting to go home. Home, to her own comfortable bed, and a decent cup of coffee - and Bob to wait hand and foot on her. That was an oddly pleasant thought; she knew him too well, and could already tell how he'd react to her injury. She would give a small token protest, of course, and would maybe feel slightly bad on occasion, but it wasn't like she could very well do a lot of her usual duties herself in her current state. But right now there was the small issue of them actually getting home. She had predicted that - mean though it was - waking Bob up and attempting to coerce him into giving them a lift back to their respective abodes was a better plan than spending another small fortune on another fucking taxi; this why she was currently feeding the payphone, to absolutely no avail.

"Hmm? What?" Tick slurred; he was practically asleep against the wall, his arms folded and makeup all but gone. He was now carrying his own heels, and both his own and Bernie's wigs; Adam was still donning her heels, loathe as she was to admit it.

"Change!" She barked impatiently, struggling with her exhaustion to hold herself up on her crutches.

"Okay, okay..." He muttered, going to search his non-existent pockets before remembering that they were that - nonexistent. "Nah."

"Oh, fuck me," Bernadette grumbled, pressing the button to get the thing to spit her coins back out. She held the receiver between her ear and her shoulder, slotting her freshly-ejected change back into the machine, until she eventually heard the drone indicating that it was willing to let her use it at long last. "Finally," she smirked, yawning as she punched in her home phone number. "It's ringing," she turned to her accompaniment, neither of whom were listening, taking a heavy breath as it dawned on her exactly how much explaining she had to do at this point, before she eventually heard Bob's voice on the other end, gravelly and clearly still half-asleep. Regardless, it was fucking music to her ears. "Oh thank heavens, Bobby, it's me...yes, I know, I'm sorry...listen, may I ask you somewhat of a huge favour?...I know it's four am, Bob, please...could you possibly come and pick us up?...me, Tick, and Adam...we're...look, it's a long story, but we're at the hospital...no, Adam's fine...no, he's not taken any- Bob, it's me, okay? I'm the reason we're here...oh shit, no...Honestly, I'm fine...I'm fine, Bob...look, it's only a broken leg, I'll be perfectly alright...I- I'll explain later, I'm running out of change...just please come...okay...love you too, darling...see you in a while...oh, and could you possibly bring me a pair of shoes...flats...thank you," she hung up after a good five minutes of conversation with her seemingly somewhat worried partner, ending off by making a sort of kissing sound down the phone. She turned to look at a scowling Adam. "What's wrong with you? You look like a bulldog licking piss off of a nettle."

As if by way of response, Adam stuck two fingers into his mouth, miming vomiting.

"Get a grip," she snarled, turning to Tick. "He says he'll be here within the hour," Bernadette gave a weary smile. Tick had his arms folded, his eyes glazed over. "You okay?"

"Me? I'm fine," he replied, curt. "I...Christ knows how much I owe this fucking babysitter now...ten dollars an hour to sit about my living room, watch my TV, and eat my food - it's madness. Absolute madness," he laughed a little.  
"If anything, they should be paying you," she agreed, leaning against the wall. "How's that whole 'fatherhood' fiasco working out for you anyway? Never got the chance to ask between the prancing about mouthing 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' for hours at a time, and panic-buying leg warmers forty minutes before the show started."  
"Yeah, put it this way, tonight is the last time I am ever asking Felicia to organise anything," he said, staring with slight contempt to Adam, who was now lying on the floor again.  
"I swear to god, I think that kid must keep his brains in his arse."  
"But as for Benji, I...it's a lot better than I had thought, actually. He's a good kid," Tick smiled at the floor, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, he thinks the sun shines out of our Felicia's arsehole, but I think that's to do with the fact that they're on the same wavelength maturity-wise. Christ almighty, and you thought two weeks on a bus with Adam by himself was murder..."  
"I take it that means he's not bothered by Mitzi then?"

"Absolutely not. He's a lot like his mum in that respect - hard-pushed to give much of a shit about...well, anything. You should have seen the look he had on his face when we did the Abba show; kid loved every minute of it."  
"Well, that's good," came Bernie's sigh of a reply. "This really wasn't at all how I planned to spend my night..."

"If it was, I think there's something wrong with you," Adam grumbled; the two had virtually forgotten he was there as he curled on a ball on the floor. Bernadette hit him about the head with a crutch, muttering something about how she almost liked him when he was quiet. "Kiddies, if you must bitch about me, at least do it somewhere besides right in fucking front of me."  
"Oh, because your bitching and pisstaking are amazingly subtle," Bernadette contemptuously raised an eyebrow. "Don't scowl at me like that - you know exactly what I'm talking about, you petulant little crap."  
"Oh, my poor wounded heart," Adam spat.  
"Get back in your fucking kennels, the pair of you, before I nick a scalpel and shank you both," Tick face-palmed. "Fucking hell, I just wanna go home..."

"Don't we all," Bernadette moaned.

"Bernie, I've just had an idea," Adam stood up, an idiotic grin on his face; all too obvious that some stupid ploy was now formulating in his head.  
"Do go on. We all know how well your ideas worked out for us last time," Bernadette gestured down at herself with a hint of malice, holding out her plastered leg - which had since been decorated in kohl eyeliner by Adam with such classy things as doodles of breasts, and the most hideously veiny cock the world had ever seen.  
"I think," he looked her up and down, surveying her sour expression and smirking at her. "We should get you onstage some point within the next few months - y'know, just as you are...maybe with a black eye or something, - and have you lip-synch 'Say That We're Sweethearts Again'."

"What? What are you talking about?" she stared at him quizzically. "And before you even bother explaining it to me, that sounds like a fucking terrible idea."  
"It's some old song from the forties - 's out of some movie called _Meet the People_. Y'know," Adam cleared his throat before starting to sing, Bernadette grimacing and sticking her fingers in her ears. " _I never knew that you and I were finished, until that bottle hit my head. And though I tried to be aloof when you pushed me off the roof, I fear our romance is dead_...Come on, it fits you perfectly! Try and tell me with a straight face that that's not the best plan that you've heard all night."  
She turned and stared at him, the straightest expression she could possibly muster on her face. She spoke in an entirely deadpan fashion, looking him straight in the eyes. "There is absolutely no way in hell that that is the the best plan that I have heard all night. In fact, it's probably the worst, and that's given that you suggested we get a fucking cab rather than an ambulance, and have now tried to chat up every morbidly obese, pissed-up Tom, Dick, and Harry in this place. Are you happy now?"  
"Delighted," Felicia responded with equal levels of snark, folding his arms and tossing his head. "Well, you know what they say, Bernice - 'the show ain't over 'til the crippled tranny sings'."  
"I don't think anyone's ever said that," Tick mumbled to himself under his breath, just loud enough to hear.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Tick and Adam were asleep, spooning on the floor by the time Bob eventually showed himself in Bernadette's prized Audi (for reasons unbeknownst to all, including herself, Bernadette had had some kind of lifelong love affair with cars, particularly those of the sleek and sporty variety - she had no interest in the actual mechanics of the whole thing; she guessed it was just a sort of magpie complex, much like her addictions to shoes and jewellery. That particular beast, affectionately nicknamed 'Sally', had been a birthday gift from Trumpet, Christ knows how he'd managed to afford it, and it was her fucking pride and joy.) Bernadette herself - still in her ludicrous outfit; still wearing a quarter of a face of makeup; still barefoot; still horrifically tired; and still unable to bloody sleep - was still standing, leaning heavily against the wall. Her arms were still slotted into her crutches, but they were no longer being used as a means of keeping herself upright - the wall was doing her just fine, so she saw no sense in giving herself aching arms as well as her remaining foot. Her plastered leg had gone almost entirely numb; this made a change, she supposed, from the pain, but it still wasn't particularly pleasant.

As she spotted Bob walking towards them, her face cracked into perhaps the broadest grin she had ever mustered; straightening up, she hobbled a few steps forward; more than a little uneasy, and in near-constant fear of falling over.

"Get off your snatches, ladies; our ride's here," she prodded Adam perhaps a little too hard in the ribs with the end of a crutch, smiling to herself as he muttered some nonsensical abuse at her. "Honest to fucking Christ, Felicia, up you get."

"You're a bitch," he stated plainly, hauling himself up off the floor.

"Oh please, tell me something I haven't heard before," she shot him a petulant smirk; Adam mirroring it almost flawlessly in parody. "Tick!"

"Wakey-wakey, Mitzi my darling," Adam shook the still-snoozing queen with his foot; Tick woke up somewhat, though only to push him away before bedding down again. "Oh for fuck's sake - Bernice's boy-toy's here; get up off the bloody floor."

Bob was at this point within around ten paces of the squabbling trio; Bernadette began to make her way towards him as she noticed his closeness.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," she smirked coyly, standing before him. Bob still wore the yellowing wifebeater that served as his pyjamas; yesterday's jeans and an open shirt thrown on over the top to try and hide the fact that he was essentially still wearing his pyjamas - his typically ponytailed hair hung loose and dishevelled, and - thank fuck - he had a pair of her cream ballet flats in his hand. He gave somewhat of a grimace, holding her at arm's length and sighing through his teeth.

"I leave you alone for five minutes, honestly," he half-laughed, stroking her arms with his thumbs as he surveyed her. Bernadette looked to the floor; blushing, and somewhat unable to hide the idiotic grin that had come over her face since seeing him. "Bloody hell, Bernie, what've you done?" She raised one arm, placing her hand on top of his.

"Oh, it's nothing, honestly."

"This doesn't look like nothing t'me."

"Okay, fine - not _nothing_ , but nothing particularly serious," she frowned a little. "No displacement; no complications - apparently, if you've got to break an ankle, this is the way to do it."

"What am I gonna do with you?" He gave her a slightly shy smile, before pulling her into an embrace, planting a chaste kiss on her cheekbone. Adam could be heard somewhere behind them;

"Oh fuck, someone fetch me a bucket - I'm gonna hurl."

"Shut your face, Felicia, or we may just leave you here," Bernie snapped at him, whipping her head round and scowling at him. "Well, I'm sure as shit not hanging around any longer than I absolutely must; time to get out of here I think," she beckoned Tick and Adam to come closer; the slightly stupefied two obligingly shuffling towards her.

"Nice to see you boys again," Bob nodded to the pair of them; barely eliciting a response besides groaning. Then, specifically to Tick; "How's the littlun?"

"He's been awake for all of two minutes; I very much doubt he's worth talking to," Bernadette spoke through a yawn.

"Bernie, you look dreadful - have you slept at all?" Bob glanced at her face worriedly.

"Not a wink," she admitted, rubbing her eyes. "I was chock-full of painkillers that are just starting to wear off that were keeping me up, and it just hurt too fucking much for a good few hours or so for me to really be able to get comfortable. The two of them had forty winks on the floor before you got here, and I considered it, but I wasn't convinced I would be able to get back up again," she gave a nervous laugh, aiming to mask her moderate humiliation and failing rather miserably.

"Ah, of course," he nodded, coming off somewhat somber. "You poor thing..."  
She brushed him off, considerably more embarrassed than she was willing to admit; she never had been one for outward displays of sympathy - not for giving them, and certainly not for being on the receiving end. "Oh leave off, I'll be fine," brusque and somewhat blunt, she began limping off in the direction that she had believed the exit to be in.

Bob stared at her as she left the three of them in the dust, giving somewhat of a thin-lipped smile. "God, she's some woman, isn't she?"

"That's our Bernice," Adam was a tad more sprightly, dragging Tick by the wrist as he followed her. "Don't...Don't let that get to you. She's weird about attention; fuckin' loves it, until it's got to do with something she didn't want to happen."

"Well, I know that now," he nodded. "Er...Adam?"  
"That's me - bloody hell, get your arse in gear, Tick; 'snot like we've got places to be or anything."  
"D'ya mind telling me what actually...y'know, happened?" he wiped at a gluey eye, trying to catch up with Bernadette, who appeared to be flagging a little. "I should probably ask her, but I'm not sure she'd be too pleased if I did."

"You're not in trouble if that's what you're meaning - she's just tired. I mean, me and Tick can tell you how much of a bitch she turns into when she's sleep deprived - she's all sugar or all shit, really."  
"No, no - I just-"  
"Not a problem, Bob; I'be been itching to tell someone all night really - it was fuckin' hilarious," he turned to read Bob's expression, and squirmed a little. "Okay, well not 'hilarious', but...Look, it was the last number of the night; we were doing _Time After Time_ by Cyndi Lauper; she trips over her own feet and goes down like a sack of shit; lands funny; knocks herself out - we dragged her offstage and waited for her to come round; figured she was taking the piss when she said she couldn't get up; realised she wasn't; and now here we are. Wasn't anything awful, but it happened in front of an audience, so she's a little...embarrassed," Adam grimaced; they walked along in silence for a few moments, Tick shuffling behind them, until Adam's ears pricked up somewhat suddenly, as he went racing towards Bernadette. "Oh my god...Bernie! I've just had another amazing idea! I-"  
"If you reckon you're getting me onstage with a broken ankle, Adam, you've got another thing coming," she barked at him, but it was too late; the tangent had already begun, and Tick pursed his lips as he heard him blabbering on about changing the lyrics to _Somewhere That's Green._

Tick turned a little to Bob, giving a small titter. "He's still wearing her shoes; wait 'til she notices - there's gonna be hell to pay."

"Hmm?" Apparently neither of them were quite awake yet.  
"Oh, sorry; he was carrying her heels about for her when we got here, and he's had them on for the last three hours. I'm surprised he isn't already dead, honestly." Bob chuckled, rolling his eyes at the bipolarity of his...well, girlfriend, Tick guessed. "You alright?"  
"Who, me? Don't think I've ever been better, honestly," he smiled, still gazing at her. "I mean, god knows she stresses me out sometimes, but she's so...well, I want to say 'not Cynthia', but that's setting the bar pretty low."

"No shit," Tick agreed, cringing at the memory.  
"I mean, she's funny, and she's gorgeous, and she's smart, and I can actually fucking take her places, which is beyond brilliant, but...There's the odd time where I can't help but feel she's kind of...closed. It's like she's always on the defensive."  
Tick placed a sympathetic hand on the other man's back, grimacing. "That's not her - it's kind of...well, it is really; what I meant to say is it's not _you_. I think I'd known her...probably a good two years before she started being really _open_ with me. The way you guys hit it off, she must really like you. Truth be told, she had a complete prune of an ex - he was a nice enough kid, sure, but he was...I reckon slightly less than half her age, and he knew fuck-all about how to treat people in a relationship - the way she put it, it was like she was a sort of warped status symbol - 'you know my girlfriend used to be my boyfriend', that kind of thing...I think she did really love him, definitely, but...I'm not sure if she was in love with _him_ , or the way he treated her," Tick stared at the floor, unsure of whether or not he had just said too much. "She..she never talked about him the way she talks about you. I think you were the first thing she really mentioned when she came back; you couldn't get her to shut up about Bob did and said and is this, that, and the other - and she's not the kind of person who's usually that hard to shut up."  
"Really?" his face had lit up somewhat.

"Oh, absolutely," he nodded. "I...Correct me if you think I'm wrong, but I reckon you might be the one. Earlier on, when she twigged that she hadn't told you...she was in bits, Bob. You'd never have seen her get like that with Trumpet, I'm telling you."  
Tick watched Bob's face break into possibly the biggest smile he'd seen the man wear; and he couldn't help but grin a little himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I was doubtful about including this chapter, but I loved how it turned out, and I think it's a good exploration of various head canons I have about certain characters, Bernie in particular. So here it is anyhow.**

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Chapter 5

Bernadette and Felicia were at most a meter from the automatic doors leading out into the real world again; five am, and it was already disgustingly warm and humid; the air hit you like a claggy slap in the face as soon as the door opened. Bernadette was back to leaning against the wall, blasé as Adam continued to talk her ears off about next-to nothing by the sounds of things.  
"Adam, could you possibly go and annoy somebody else now?" she rolled her eyes, scowling at him. "Fucking christ, it's been what? Two hours? And I'm already sick to death of this," she gestured with her head down at herself. "In no situation should walking involve your arms nearly this much; I'm falling to fucking bits."

"It's just the old age, Bernice," Adam jested, giving a squawking laugh as he made the remark. "So now we know you can't cope with wearing heels anymore; next thing you know it'll be hip replacements, and then what?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"When you're the only one laughing at your own joke, Felicia sweetheart, that tends to mean it wasn't all that funny," she made an attempt to shut him up, but he ignored her entirely, continuing - if anything, getting louder so he could be heard over the top of her.  
"Incontinence knickers-"

"Oh, shut your face, you little faggot."  
"Make me, grandma - you've been sitting here tearing strips off me all night; what if I decide it's revenge time, eh?" Adam was tired - that was a given. But his tiredness had reached a new level; one of irritability, and of a desire to pick fights with people. Bernadette just happened to be the closest possible choice.  
"Adam, you are _really_ starting to piss me off now," Bernadette pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger; her voice taking on a new note of genuine anger that it hadn't had previously during their little pissing contests and pointless debates.  
"And you think I wasn't pissed off at everything you've said about me? I keep my brains in my arse, do I? Yeah, I heard that. And that fortnight in the desert was 'murder', was it? Well, I-"

"That one was Tick."  
"You think it was that much fun for me either? Day in and day out, being the butt of you two's stupid little jokes; almost getting my head kicked in by some fuckwit that night. You reckon I got much pleasure out of that, Bernie?"  
"If you care to remember," she spat, dripping venom. "It was me that saved your skin that night; I had to sit and listen to you bitching about me at every opportunity before that, and I still went and risked everything for you because I wasn't prepared to stand about and watch you getting killed. Your pal Frank wasn't the only one there, you self-centred bastard - do you think they'd have been any kinder to me? No, of course not - I could have been fucking killed, and I did what I did for _you_ in spite of that. So wherever you got this twisted little idea that I hate you for no reason from, I suggest you drop it pretty fucking quickly!"  
"Okay, fine," he folded his arms, petulant and waspish.  
"And let's not forget that it's entirely your fault that I'm here at all; I was perfectly content out there in Alice, but I put my neck out for you and came back - I'm greeted with your stupid little attitude problems as if I'd never been gone, in spite of having not seen the lot of you for more than six months; I make a fool of myself so you can prance around being the prima donna that you are; I slip on your fucking hairpiece that we had _told_ you in rehearsal you couldn't throw off during _True Colours_ because it was a fucking trip hazard; I _literally_ break my leg on a stage with about two hundred people watching me, only to wake up to find you cackling about it; and you've done nothing but make fun and take the piss all night, even though you should know fine well that this whole nonsense has been degrading, humiliating, and horrendously painful for me, as well as _entirely_ your fault. You're the most unbelievably ungrateful, self-centred twit I've ever had the displeasure to meet in my life, and I-"  
"Oh great, and now you're going deaf too," he sneered at her. "I told you I get it, so you can shut the fuck up and stop the pity party right now. _Ralph_."

"See, this is exactly what I'm fucking talking about! There was no reason for you to ever bring that up - not in the bar in Broken Hill; not when I went wandering out into the middle of the desert - alone - to once again try and save _your_ fucking life; not here; not during your idiotic little gossip sessions with Tick...Look, you think that your life is hard because of what happened in Coober Pedy and all the rest of it, but what you forget is that for you, this is a fucking costume; nothing more. It's a costume that you can take off at the end of the night, and then get on with your frivolous little life again in the morning. But for me, it _is_ my fucking life. I've been dealing with this shit since before you were in nappies; between the invasive questions; and the names; and the men turning me down because of...this; and the getting beaten up virtually just for existing - and it's nothing like what happened to you, because I wasn't _like_ you; I wasn't drugged-up and wandering into a crowd of bogan dickheads, looking like sex on legs and behaving like a bitch in heat - I wasn't a costume playing a character; I was just... _existing_ as myself. I...the last thing I need is you insisting on pissing me off because it gives you a kick. It..." she fixed her eyes on the floor, her anger having come full circle and almost reducing her to tears. "It cuts a hell of a lot deeper than you'd think. No matter how tough I think I'm getting, it fucking stings every single time, just as much as it did when I was young, and I know I make myself out to be this emotionless brick wall, but I'm _not_ , and to have someone like you - someone who I consider a _friend_ \- having the impudence to do the exact same thing as everyone else in my life who's hurt me, it's..." she tailed off, not convinced that he was listening, and not caring to continue speaking regardless.

She cringed at the sudden resurgence of the memory; it had happened more than just a few times to her, and not for anything closer to looking for trouble than walking down the street after dark. The first time, when she had still been with Les Girls, hadn't been awful; the second, in her thirties, a lot worse. He'd been wearing a ring; some enormous, ostentatious chunk of rock that had taken a chunk out of her forehead when he'd hit her. The week in the hospital - in _this_ hospital - nursing broken ribs, jaw, nose, and pride had been awful - in fact, it had been the first time that she had truly called what she was doing with her life under question.

For once in his life, Adam was struck almost dumb, grimacing and twiddling his thumbs. A lump was growing uncomfortably in his throat to what felt like the size of a tennis ball; the situation was so uncomfortable, and the atmosphere so fragile and easily shattered, he didn't know how to respond. Bernadette was dabbing at her damp eyes with her hand; her lips pursed, and face gaunt and pained. "Bernie, I-"  
"Save it. Just fucking save it," she muttered, scowling at him. "I don't dislike you, Adam. However, what I do dislike is this attitude you have - you care only for your own amusement, and to hell with the consequences and whoever you might hurt along the way. It isn't clever, and it isn't funny, it..." she stopped talking again; finding the fire to lash out once again, but not taking long to lose it. Her mind was swirling into a dizzying mix of emotions; misery, self-loathing, an odd self-sympathy; perhaps even a touch of envy at the shameless, brazen self-assuredness of the younger queen.

But mostly, she was fucked off. Letting rip at Felicia had made her feel a little better, but not by much; certainly not significantly enough to allow her to relax again. Wound like a spring, she felt about ready to go off again at a second's notice, and and the most confusing thing was the fact that it had come out of nowhere; her sudden, white-hot anger, and the oversharing word vomit it had caused had appeared out of fucking _nowhere_.

When she looked up again, Adam was still standing there sulking; dark curls in sweat-soaked disarray, that ludicrous unitard clinging to his figure; beneath the tan, his embarrassment and perhaps shame had turned him a greyish-white - for a second or two, Bernadette felt a twinge of sympathy. Then she looked down and spotted _her fucking shoes_ still on his feet - patent lavender numbers with stiletto heels; the bloody things had taken her forever to find, and they hadn't exactly come cheap either - and the fucked off-ness took over again.

"Bernadette, look; I'm sorry," he spoke, still glowering at the tiles. "It was never within my rights to bring up, and...  
"No, it's fine," she waved him off, still looking at him, but not making any eye contact. "It's my fault anyway. Certain things are said in the heat of the moment that you don't mean."

"Oh, but you did mean them," she stared at him quizzically; wondering how or indeed why he had the gall to accuse her of lying. He stumbled over his words, continuing with a flush to his cheeks. "That...some of what you said - not about me, but...what you told me about you. Nobody in their right mind would make that up," he gave a delicate half-smile, still not looking at her. "I never thought of it like that..."  
"Neither did I; that's the trouble with transitioning when you've roots in drag," she sighed. "You're so used to the men fawning at your feet, and the likeability...you never imagine how much of flip comes over. Not that I'd change a thing about what I've done, because ultimately I'm happier now than I ever was then, but I realised when it was too late how much of freak it made me to most people. All the men in my life became tranny-chasing sycophants, and I found myself carrying a knife around in my handbag because I was so afraid of being jumped...you never really understand it until it's you."  
"I-"

"Don't apologise again. I know you mean well, but the word itself means nothing. Just cut the crap, and we'll be fine."  
"Well then, I guess I will," he looked up at long last; his gaze meeting Bernadette's. He extended a hand to hers, cocking his head slightly. "Truce?"

"Truce," she took it, her expression now reading something close to happiness; this made him feel a little better.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I temporarily deleted the** **initial ch. 6 - it seemed as though it'd just been flung in without any consideration, and there was somewhat of a gap in the story. And a distinct lack of Bernadette/Bob. So regarding this bastard - fluff ahoy, one could say. The next chapter may concern the two of them more, but the previous ch. 6 will be reposted when I've bridged the gap.**

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There was something almost infuriating about the relationship Bernadette was in, and it had fuck-all to do with the man she was in it with. No, the irritating thing could be summed up almost entirely by what she had said to Tick at her former paramour's funeral; she had spent far too long _looking_. Far too much of her money, time, and effort had been flung at companionship. Her insatiable need to _be_ with someone had been a really bizarre thing; it was a kind of search for validation, she realised with hindsight. One of these silly things associated with womanhood that she had felt the need to fulfil in order to actually _be_ a woman; a man, marriage, children...it was part of the rigmarole. She had set out with the intention of snagging herself a sympathetic husband, and had wound up with a nice enough twenty-something who was, for all intents and purposes, a gay man with a fetish - 'tranny chaser', she believed the terminology was these days, though that exact turn of phrase made her want to sick up a little. But once he was gone - once she _had_ no agenda, and no ulterior motive or desire for...well, anything, really - everything had somehow fallen right into place. Everything she had invested hideous amounts of her life in finding she had stumbled upon when she hadn't been looking. _That_ was the infuriating part.

Bob and Tick had eventually turned the corner to find she and Adam leaning against the wall; Tick announcing that they had taken a wrong turn, and apologising for the amount of time it had taken them to get there, before commencing a presumably unimportant conversation with Adam regarding his mother, and how to get home without being crucified by her for waking her up. She stood up fully once again, grimacing as she rolled her shoulders. Fucking hell, her arms were already killing her - the next six weeks were to be...eventful. And most probably sore; ha, like that had ever been a question. Bob placed an arm around her shoulders, and she broke once again into a hideously broad smile - this was proof of it. She was just so unbelievably, inexorably _happy_...If one had told her twenty-whatever year old self - or even just herself last year - that she would one day be hopelessly in love with a mechanic in his fifties from the middle of nowhere who was still legally tied to a mail-oder bride who shoved ping-pong balls up her fanny for a living, who she had met by chance whilst travelling across the outback in a barely functional lavender bus with a pair of drag queens, odds were she would have told one to go and shove one's head where the sun doesn't shine. However, in spite of all that, there she was.

She remembered that first night stupidly vividly - when they had sat outside Priscilla all night, and just talked. Talked about next-to nothing until they had eventually fallen asleep by one another's sides. She had been rudely awoken by Tick and Adam's merciless teasing, with frosting in her hair; the tentative conversation between herself and Bob of _Did we? I don't think we did. I'm sure I wasn't that drunk - I'd remember if we did. Shit, what if we did?_ had ensued; it had eventually been deduced that they hadn't, but it didn't take too long until they...had. They had fallen with such a stupid amount of ease into a relationship; nights awake boozing and chatting became chaste, tentative kisses in front of the television, then that became more...Tipsy and smitten is as tipsy and smitten does, and in their cases, tipsy and smitten _did_. Eventually; about halfway through the run of shows at the casino.

She remembered that lineup so well, and that was coming from a woman who was lucky to remember the whereabouts of her car keys, or what she'd eaten for breakfast; _I Don't Care if the Sun Don't Shine_ , dressed up like 1940s showgirls; followed up by Felicia's solo performance of _Material Girl_ , which had involved a lot of him sticking his scantily-clad arse in the faces of front-row audience members; Eurythmics's _Hello I Love You_ ; _There's No Business Like Show Business_ ; _One Way or Another_ by Blondie, which had been Tick by himself, donning a lot more leather and safety pins than she believed really suited him; and she had closed the show solo, dressed to the nines in white lace with _Like A Virgin._ She had stumbled back to her room, loaded up on lime daiquiris and the adrenaline of performing, with Bob on her arm; give it ten minutes, and they were nude and dishevelled in her bed. Age had mellowed the pair of them; they lacked the vigour, and the hunger they'd possessed twenty or even ten years previously, but still. It was something - no, far more than _something_ \- for a washed-up old queen with greying hair and saggy tits.

His sheer level of _selflessness_ had been absolutely overwhelming - that was another thing. Trumpet, whilst not sharing in her own 'my way or the highway' attitude, had been a bit of a stick in the mud. He knew what he liked, and didn't particularly enjoy straying from that; a complete princess, if she was honest. If she had phoned him up in the middle of the night asking for a lift, broken ankle or otherwise, she'd have been met with childish whinging, and he would have _maybe_ turned up begrudgingly a few hours later. But she hadn't even called a whole hour ago - and she lived forty-five minutes from the hospital - and yet here he was with her in his embrace.

She placed her head on his shoulder, almost catlike in her delivery of affection. "Thank you," she muttered, glancing up at him with the gaze of an idiotic lovestruck teenager.  
"What was I meant to do; leave you here to walk home?" he gave a slight chuckle. "My pleasure, darling," he leaned across to her, their lips meeting momentarily in a quick peck; nothing more, presumably thanks to their company. "Do you want a hand with anything?"  
"No, I'm fine," she sighed heavily, once again almost entirely unwilling to accept his solace. Extravagant displays of anything, particularly sympathies, were a thing that had always - inexplicably - gotten on her tits. "Well, I'll have to be, or this'll be a pretty impossible six weeks."  
"Oh my god..." he gave a soft groan as he removed his arm from her, and they made for the doors. "Well, you've made quite some mess of yourself from what I've heard from Adam-"  
"Oh fucking hell, what's he told you?" Bernadette cast her eyes to the heavens; cursing herself for walking away and letting Adam elaborate on the whole thing.  
"Erm...I can't remember exactly to be honest," Bob said as Bernadette sighed heavily through her nose. "Just that you tripped over your own feet and knocked yourself out, I think."  
"Lies - all lies," she laughed to herself, accompanied by a trademark roll of the eyes. "The only thing I fucking tripped on was his ponytail clip, and we told him at least a dozen times that regardless of how much it 'improved' the whole number," she stopped, raising her hands in a gesture of ersatz quotes on 'improved. "He was to keep it on his fucking head, and most certainly not chuck it behind him where me and Tick were supposed to be dancing, because otherwise one of us'd slip on it and break our bloody neck."  
"Well, you're lucky in that respect," he gave a slight nod to her leg and crutches.  
"This is true," she agreed, scoffing slightly. "Still, one of us still broke _something_ , and I can't say I'm exactly pleased about it," she uncomfortably readjusted her shoulders again. "God, I feel hideous - alongside weighing a ton, this thing doesn't do all that much for the way my legs look."  
"If it means anything, I think you look beautiful - cast or otherwise," he smiled at her - god, his smile. That was another thing she hadn't necessarily enjoyed about Trumpet; he had the type of goofy grin that knocked about ten points off of his IQ with every inch it spread across his face; it made him look thick as shit - he _wasn't_ , which may have been why she resented it. She knew that was a horrible way of thinking, but it was a way of thinking she couldn't shake. Bob's smile, on the other hand...Even she disliked her own smile; she found herself shyly covering her mouth with a hand if ever circumstances meant that she caught herself grinning fully - it accentuated the lines around her mouth, which she resented; it made her lips look almost nonexistent; and many a person had told her she showed off too many teeth, so that was another reason to hate it. Her point being that almost everyone took some sort of issue with their smile; it wasn't a flattering expression - for Christ's sake, even Johnny fucking Depp probably looked like a buffoon whilst beaming. But as far as Bob went...his was charming, and knowing...it almost did him a few favours in the looks department - and it wasn't as though he needed many of those. Even the sight of his face made her blush, lest of all his actual remark.  
"Oh stop it, you..." she gave a sort of token protest, putting an arm around his neck and pulling him into a kiss - a proper kiss; not a meek peck on the cheekbone like before; to hell with the consequences. Mitzi and Felicia could take the piss all they wanted; she was done with trying to hide what was going on between the pair of them. 'Hide the sausage', as Adam had termed it in the parking lot of Lasseter's, now didn't even begin to cover it; while a casual fuck may have been all that her brain had made it out to be in those first few weeks, or even months - a way to forget Trumpet, or take a break from the life devoid of anything even resembling fun, in the respect that she and Bob had had it in those early days, aboard Priscilla...fuck it, she was in love. She hadn't felt like this since the honeymoon period of she and Trumpet's romance; the halcyon days of the first couple of months that had worn thin eventually. But this particular breed of feeling, for this particular man who had swept her off her feet without even trying, was one she prayed would last.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Good chance that this'll be the final chapter - I had another scene planned, but the level of detail was excruciating, and it seemed gratuitous. So, this is it. It was a fun ride - hope you enjoyed it. All four of you.**

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"Jesus Christ, Bernadette, how many poor, innocent animals had to die to make this thing?" Adam spoke in half-admiration of the black leather of Bernadette's car's interior. He raised his eyebrows, Tick bundling into the other side's passenger door, collapsing into the seat and dumping his own and Bernadette's paraphernalia on the floor at his feet. "And how many _rich_ animals did you have to _fuck_ to get it?"

Bernadette ignored him, giving a coy smile from her position in the front passenger seat. That was another way in which the appeal of fancy cars was much like that of a nice pair of earrings or shoes; it was a talking point. A considerably more expensive talking point than either of the other two, but a talking point nonetheless. She saw the thing as almost being like a fashion accessory; it had been hers for over three years at this point, and it had barely 5,000 miles on it - this was perhaps a testament to the fact.

"You girls good to go?" Bob turned to the back of the car, addressing the pair of drag queens seated there. Tick was occupying about as much space as was humanly possible, his arms and legs spread out as he slouched in his seat. Adam was remarkably still sitting pretty; legs elegantly folded, and makeup somehow still almost totally intact.

"Ready when you are, Bob," Adam chimed, irritatingly chipper for how long they'd all been awake. "Everyone still alive?"

"Yes, but you won't be for much longer if you don't stop running your mouth," Bernadette snarked from the front seat, sighing heavily as she leaned back in her seat; Bob starting the car, before promptly making a complete arse of getting out of the parking space they were in. The light was almost blinding - half past five o'clock in the morning, after a miserable however many hours loitering around in various states of dress, undress, and pain (the latter for one of them more so than the others,) and Bernadette could probably speak for the others when she said that she was more than glad to be leaving it behind. Of course, she would have been far happier if the whole nasty business had never occurred in the first place, but it was too fucking late for that now. She leaned one arm against the window, massaging her temple with her middle and index fingers. "Christ almighty...I don't know what they gave me in there, but whatever it was, it's fucking with me; my head's splitting."

"The concussion would probably be worth taking into account," Tick groaned, hardly audible. "I mean, you knocked yourself out for the best part of fifteen minutes, and spewed at least twice between the Imperial and here."

"I suppose so," she huffed, placing her free hand on Bob's knee; he seemed too intently focused on driving and staying awake to engage in conversation. "Now what?"

"The fuck do you mean 'now what'?" Adam leaned over the top of her seat, his chin by her shoulder. "We go home, we get some sleep; we get on with tomorrow and pretend this never happened. Well, I do, anyway."

"I meant in the long run, you dickhead," she pushed him back onto the seat by means of shoving his face, 'tsk'ing under her breath at his idiocy.

"Well, you sit pretty and don't do anything stupid for however long you've got to do that for, then you get on with it and pretend this never happened," he smiled at her, thin-lipped with raised eyebrows.

"Well, what else can I do?" she nodded her agreement. "Besides pray that everything'll be back in working order in two months; then all will be hunky-dory. Hopefully."

"Hopefully," Tick repeated, almost wistful. "Because you're a bloody good performer, and a bloody good friend to boot; fuck knows where this place would be without you."

"Oh here we go," Adam rolled his eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully. "Kiss-arse."

"That's why I like him more than you," Bernadette turned, simpering, before sitting back again and flipping him the bird. "Well, at least if I do go, I went in battle, so to speak," she gave a slight laugh.

"Drag Valhalla," Tick chuckled, giving a nod of agreement.

"That'd be the irony of the century; Bernadette Bassinger, having paid her way for over three decades shaking her tush and drinking her way to an early grave in a pair of heels only goes and ends her career by falling the wrong way - in a pair of fucking heels." she gave a sort of nasally half-laugh. "Crazy night, huh?"

"I've had crazier," Adam pointed out; many things in mind. Getting the shit kicked out of him by Bernadette, the blonde having boozed herself halfway to a coma against that butch dyke in the bar in Broken Hill; the impromptu performance for that Aboriginal lot out in the sticks; Bob's local pub...oh dear Christ, _Cynthia_...they could all agree that to purge themselves of that particular memory would be a fine thing indeed; Broken Hill wasn't even to be mentioned - the second time e'd been on the receiving end of a punch that trip, e'd been blasted off his ass on far more than Stoli, and it had hurt far, far more - the memory as much as the bruises. That first night at Lassetter's when Benji's appearance in the audience had brought out Tick's inner fainting goat; then the one about a week after that when Bernadette had disappeared off the face of the planet within twenty minutes of coming off the stage, then come down for breakfast mellower than he had ever seen her, making eyes at Bob the whole time...he guessed that had been wild for her, at least. This one seemed tame by contrast; mostly to do with the fact that to the extent of his knowledge, the three of them hadn't even so much as gargled mouthwash the whole night. Well, Bernadette had clearly been on some crazy shit at one point, but it sounded as though she was already paying the price for it. Whatever; in his eyes, intoxication would have livened the whole night up.

"True," Bernadette half-smiled. "Still, I'll be damned if I forget this one any time soon."


End file.
